


Battlescars

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Scars, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Their relationship is new and exciting but there are hurdles to overcome (re-write of purity-purged fic)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Battlescars

“Hey!” Her warm greeting was cut off when Dean rushed across the war room, scooping her up into his arms. He kissed her deeply, holding her close as she wriggled in his grip. “Dean! What’s gotten into you!” she yelped, giggling as he dropped her back to her feet.

“Sorry. I missed you,” he mumbled sheepishly, kissing her again. Sam ambled past, grinning at the both of them.

“He’s been unbearable,” he commented, shaking his head. “If I’d known it was gonna be like this, I wouldn’t have encouraged him to ask you out.” Y/N blushed and the elder Winchester scowled at his younger brother, prompting Sam to laugh and back away. “I’ll catch you guys later, I’m getting some sleep.”

Looking back at Dean, Y/N smiled when his scowl dissipated as soon as they were alone. “Want some dinner?” he asked; she nodded, placing one hand on his chest.

“Order in? I’m feeling pizza.”

He smiled, pulling her in for another kiss. “I’ll get the menu,” he muttered without moving, too intent on kissing the breath out of her. His hands wandered down, groping her breasts and she moaned into him, her body curving into the lines of his. "Or I could just eat you,” Dean suggested lewdly; you smiled but pulled away, smacking his ass lightly. He grumbled, heading for the library. “I guess I’ll get the menu.” Y/N watched him leave, the smile fading from her face, a worried frown replacing it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want Dean because she did… so, so much. They’d come close so many times but every single time it happened, the moment he tried to take her clothes off, she would freeze, unable to deal, making excuses. He’d been so fucking good about it, assuming it was because she wasn’t ready. He reassured her that he could wait, that he was falling in love with her and wouldn’t rush it.

But it _wasn’t _that she wasn’t ready. For that, she was totally ready. She had long stopped being a shy and flowering virgin. 

No, the problem was her past and the marks it left on her… more specifically, the marks she left on herself. It had been a long time since she had been that low but the scars remained, littered across her upper arms, thighs, and stomach. Little cuts, none of them more than an inch long but remaining there as stark reminders of what she felt in those darkest hours.

Dean returned from the kitchen, menu in hand, disrupting Y/N from her thoughts; she forced a smile onto her face. “You okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes. She nodded, slipping her arms around his neck to place a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiled back, holding up the menu. “Shall we order dinner, m'lady?”

The evening stretched on, and Y/N found herself in the rec room with Dean, curled up on the battered old couch he’d found a few weeks before. The TV he’d installed was playing a black and white movie in the background, but neither of them was paying any attention to it. Dean’s head rested in her lap, his finger drawing a pattern on her jean-clad thigh as her hands stroked through his hair gently. Discarded pizza boxes littered the floor in front of the two-seater sofa and a sigh escaped Dean’s lips when he shifted a little, his hands sliding from her thighs up to the hem of the long t-shirt she wore. Y/N groaned as he kissed her inner thigh, his breath hot even through the denim of her pants. 

Before she could stop him, he’d pushed the hem of her shirt up, exposing her stomach; she freaked, moving so abruptly that he fell and landed on his ass on the floor.

The look on his face was so wounded that she felt immediately guilty, sitting up and yanking her shirt down to cover her skin. “Dean… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, getting to his feet, but the way he said it let her know that it wasn’t okay, and he was hurt by the continued rejection. She bit her bottom lip, feeling tears in her eyes. Dean started to clear away the pizza boxes, and Y/N stood up, catching his arm to stop him.

“Dean, please… let me explain.”

“No, it’s okay, Y/N,” he assured her with a weak smile and she could see his hurt through it, plain as day. “You don’t want to, and I’m not gonna pressure you.”

“I do want to!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm a little. “This has nothing to do with me wanting you because, Dean, seriously, I want you. I _really _want you.”

He frowned, confused, dropping the pizza boxes back onto the floor. “I don’t understand,” he said softly. “Why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you freak out or - or freeze if I try to touch you that way?” She shuffled her feet, looking down, unsure how to confess. “Is it…” Horror filled his tone as he realized how tactless he could have been. “Did something happen to you?” he asked in concern. She lifted her head in confusion, not understanding for a moment before realization sank in.

“Oh god, no,” she rebutted, “nothing like that.” He seemed a little relieved by that. “I just… there’s… I’ve got some…” Words failed her, and she looked away before he took her hands in his, gazing at her with those stupidly green eyes of his.

“Y/N… you can tell me. Anything. Whatever it is.”

She met his gaze again slowly then pulled her hands away, letting her fingers grasp the bottom of her shirt. Purposefully, she lifted it, only baring her stomach. 

Tiny white and pink lines littered her skin, half a dozen in one spot, a few clustered around the top of her hip, the largest one sliding underneath her belly button. Dean looked down, seeing the marks, a frown slipping over his expression.

“What… where did you get these?” he murmured, his thumb reaching out to trace over a mark on her left side. 

The touch of his skin made Y/N flinch a little and she didn’t reply, shame in her eyes, heating her cheeks. He lifted his eyes, trying to keep her gaze with his hand still on her stomach. Slowly, understanding melted over his face, and he frowned. 

“Are these self-inflicted?” he asked quietly, barely audible over the television. She nodded, tears escaping her eyes as she dropped her shirt. Dean didn’t move his hand, didn’t recoil in disgust or mockery as she expected. 

He pulled her closer. “You didn’t have to hide this from me,” he whispered.

“I did,” she insisted, sniffing her tears away, trying to steel herself against her own embarrassment. “They’re a weakness. Maybe an old weakness, but you’d think less of me.”

Dean pulled back, looking down at her in shock. “They’re not a weakness,” he replied. “They’re battlescars. You fought a fight that a lot of people would lose. Maybe you didn’t have a physical opponent, but sometimes -” He sighed, stroking his hands over her shoulders. “Sometimes our own demons are the worst.” Stopping, he offered her a lopsided grin. “That was kinda deep for me, right?”

Y/N laughed quietly, an almost unbelievable relief in the pit of her stomach. “That was. But they’re not… Your scars are battlescars. Mine are just… I lost.”

“You’re still here,” he pointed out, tilting her chin up with one finger, kissing her softly. “I don’t see that as a loss.” His hands went to the hem of her shirt again. “May I?” he asked, lifting it an inch or so. She nodded, holding her breath when he pulled the shirt up and over her head, leaving her standing in her jeans and bra. The scars on her stomach stood out, or at least to her they did. There were a few scattered across the underside of her upper arms; Dean traced his fingers over them gently, his eyes roaming her skin.

“They’re horrible,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“No,” he corrected. “They’re part of you. And there’s nothing about you I don’t find beautiful.” Leaning forward, he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “And I’m gonna show you.” He kissed along her jawline, down across her collarbone, his fingers sliding around to unhook her bra. It fell from her body, joining the discarded t-shirt on the floor. Dean’s mouth followed the curve of her breast, avoiding the nipple purposely. Y/N arched her back, wanting to feel his lips on the most sensitive part of her breast but he declined to indulge her, trailing down instead, across her stomach as he dropped to his knees.

She went still when his fingers slid under the waistband of her jeans, popping the button. Slowly, he dragged the denim down her thighs, letting it pool at her feet, encouraging her to step out of the material. For a second, she stood there in just her panties and socks, her hands shaking with the urge to hide as he looked at her. Dean’s fingers moved up her legs, tracing over the wider scars on her thighs; Y/N flinched, still unsure of his reaction.

“Oh, baby.” Dean looked up at her from his knees, his voice running through her like a caress. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the thickest scar on her thigh, just above her left knee. Then he kissed the next one, and the next one - she moaned, suddenly not caring about the marks. He peppered her thighs with open-mouthed kisses, his hands cupping her ass. “You’re beautiful,” he praised, his forehead against her mound. The vibration of his words made her wet and her hands threaded through his hair. “You’re a fucking goddess.” His hands squeezed her ass gently before dragging her panties down to her ankles. 

She kicked them away, desperate for him to touch her; he didn’t disappoint. With one hand he guided her back to sit on the couch, his other hand spreading her thighs. He looked down at her as if she was the only thing in the world - her breaths hitched as his fingers traced the folds of her pussy.

“Dean….” she rasped, her hips moving forward of their own accord.

He smiled, sliding one finger knuckle deep inside her as she sat on the couch, the television still playing in the background. She whimpered, trying to hold back from grinding down on his hand; he pushed his finger in further, curling it upwards to brush against her sweetest spot. A moan broke from her lips so he added a second finger, scissoring them in her tight channel, feeling her clench around him. Shifting a little, Dean brushed his thumb over her clit and Y/N yelped, a flood of arousal surging through her as he watched her come apart.

Leaning forward, eyes on her face, Dean curled his fingers upwards again, applying pressure to her clit at the same time. She cried out loudly, losing control under his ministrations, gripped his shoulder tightly, leaning in as she came. He grinned when he pulled his fingers from her fluttering pussy, licking his hand clean of her juices. 

“You’re beautiful when you cum,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her again. She could taste herself on his tongue and as he pulled away, she smiled lazily at him.

Dean pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing his muscular frame. Y/N licked her lips at the sight, eyes wandering over the tattoo on his chest. She sat up a little straighter, desperate to touch him, reaching out with shaking fingers. He caught her hand as it touched his stomach, tracing over a scar he got from a ghoul. It was long and thin, white against his tanned skin. 

“See?” he said softly. “My battlescars are the same as yours.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers, undoing his pants with his free hand at the same time.

As he pushed his pants down, she moved forward to capture his mouth in a kiss and slid into his lap. His cock bounced against his thigh as he leaned backward, letting her settle over him, trapping him between her sex and his leg. “I want you,” she whispered, ducking her gaze with a small but ridiculous amount of shyness considering their position. 

Dean grinned. “That’s a good thing,” he quipped lightly, “cause I’d be offended if you rejected me now.” Lifting her almost effortlessly, he slid the head of his cock through her folds, lining up. Y/N managed a breath before he pulled her down, impaling her on his shaft with one stroke. Their groans mingled with the first contact, both of them pressing close to each other. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” Burying his face between her tits, his voice rumbled against her skin. “So fucking long.”

“Uh,” was about the only response she could muster as he filled her, thick and long and fucking perfect. It had been a long time since anyone had been like this with her, and she’d forgotten how good it could feel. She moved, raising herself up and back down onto him again; Dean grunted, pulling her closer like he couldn’t be close enough.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he praised, his voice strained and breathless, his expression a mask of bliss as she rode him. Y/N kept her eyes on him, kissing him intermittently as she sank down onto him again and again, feeling herself spiraling into a climax as her thighs ached with the exertion.

With a cry, she fell over the edge again, finding herself moved onto her back, on the soft rug-covered floor of the library, Dean still buried deep. He kissed her neck, then dipped his head, sucking at her nipples as he began to move again, his cock throbbing inside her.

“Dean…” she moaned, lifting her hips to meet his, her hands clutching at his back and ass desperately as he licked and nipped at her tits, making her shudder and writhe underneath him. “Dean, I’m gonna…” She wasn’t sure how she was cumming again so quickly; her pussy clamped down tightly around him and Dean found himself inexplicably dragged over the precipice with her, flooding her greedy cunt with his seed, pumping until he had nothing left to give. They both collapsed in a tangle of sweaty skin and messy hair, clothes left in haphazard piles around them. Dean’s pants were still around his ankles but he didn’t seem to care as he held her close.

After a few moments, Y/N shivered and Dean immediately grabbed the throw from the sofa and pulled it over them, kissing her forehead softly.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, looking up at him, not wanting to break the perfect moment. He grinned, nuzzling her cheek.

“Haven’t lost my touch,” he replied, sliding a finger down her cheek. “Give me fifteen and I’ll show you even more.”

With a smile, Y/N snuggled into him, catching sight of one scar, her fears reignited. “And you’re not bothered by…”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, his thumb on her chin as he smiled. “Don’t ever think I’d judge you for old battlescars. They’re just like mine.” He kissed you deeply. “It’s just proof you won, baby. That’s all.”


End file.
